


Name

by fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)



Series: Control Group [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27360619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity
Summary: They were the first words the boy had spoken since Cloud had found him, and while his enunciation wasn’t great, it was enough for Cloud to parse both the words and the inflection: he was parroting Hojo. It was creepy as all hell to hear Hojo’s words out of a toddler’s mouth; creepier still to think that the boy had already been trained to respond like a soldier.Cloud's first conversation with the experiment he stole from Hojo's lab.
Series: Control Group [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998373
Comments: 14
Kudos: 138





	Name

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place several days prior to [Perfect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962586).

They’d been traveling for half an hour when Cloud started to hear the rattle in Fenrir’s engine again. By an hour and a half, halfway out of the Nibel mountains, the rattle had become a clattering and a high-pitched whine. Fenrir  _ might  _ be able to get them to the base of the mountain range, but the next time he turned her off, she wouldn’t turn back on again. He’d be able to fix her - he’d fixed her plenty of times before - but not with the tools he had on hand. 

Just shy of hour three, the whine had escalated to the point where Cloud was calculating how many delivery runs it’d take to pay for a new transmission, and the toddler in his arms had started a very familiar squirming. They were still a good forty or fifty miles away from the nearest village of any size, and more than two hundred miles from anywhere big enough to have the parts he’d need to repair the bike. Making a snap decision, Cloud swung Fenrir off the road and brought her to a halt on a patch of empty dirt surrounded by a copse of trees above a cliff overlooking the winding curve of the mountain road. 

The engine died with a crunching pop that made Cloud wince, even though he’d expected it. The boy’s squirming stilled, and he looked up at Cloud worriedly, his green eyes wide. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Cloud said to him. “Need to hit the head?” 

The boy stared at him and didn’t answer. 

Cloud sighed; he’d forgotten how deliberate he’d had to be with his language around Marlene, those first couple of years. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?” 

The boy nodded. Cloud dismounted the bike and set the boy down, then pointed at the cliff. “Go ahead.” 

The boy looked at the cliff, then back at Cloud, visibly baffled - a strange expression to see on that almost-familiar face. It took another second for Cloud to understand the confusion; when he did, he sighed and dragged a hand down his face. He had _not_ ever expected to be explaining… _this_ , to… to _him_. But this kid couldn’t be more than two or three years old, and probably hadn’t ever left the big mansion on the outskirts of Nibelheim. Hell, Cloud was lucky he wasn’t still in diapers—

_ That _ was something Cloud didn’t want to think about. 

Whatever emotions were on Cloud’s face made the boy flinch back, so Cloud forced his expression back to neutrality and waved at the cliff again. “You just… aim over the edge. It’s fine.” The boy still looked skeptical, so Cloud pointed again, as gently as he could. “There aren’t any bathrooms around here, so it’s that or nothing.” 

The boy wavered, but he’d also started to do the little back-and-forth hop that Cloud remembered from when Marlene had been younger. After a moment, the boy turned away from Cloud and padded over to the edge of the cliff, his bare feet all but silent on the dirt. Cloud crouched down behind Fenrir to give the boy the illusion of privacy, though he kept enough of an eye on him that he’d be able to react if the boy started to lose his balance or something. 

By the time the boy returned, tiny hands tugging his thin smock back into place, Cloud had determined that his initial guess had been right. Fenrir’s transmission was badly damaged, and so was her fuel injector, and probably a couple of other things he couldn’t confirm without taking the whole bike apart. That damned Nibel dragon had really done a number on her. He didn’t even dare try to turn her back on - if he did, the engine would probably fall right apart. 

Sighing, Cloud stood up and scanned the area. The copse of trees surrounding this little patch of dirt would be enough to hide the bike, at least long enough for Cloud to find someone to help him haul her someplace he could repair her. 

“Wait right here,” he told the boy, then flipped up the kickstand and wheeled the bike into the trees. He tucked her deep behind the thickest trunks, pulling down some leaves and branches for extra camouflage. Even with the engine damaged, Fenrir was still made up of all kinds of valuable parts, not to mention her raw metal, and the mountain folk lived on the edge of sustainability. Anyone who found the bike out here wouldn’t hesitate to claim her for themselves. 

At least the switch for the sword compartments still worked. Cloud pulled out the pieces of his sword and snapped them together into the full assembly, then slid the blade into the harness on his back. One final pass to make sure he’d removed everything portable from the bike, then he spread out a last blanket of branches to hide her gold detailing. Nothing was a guarantee out here on Mount Nibel, but Fenrir was as safe as he could make her for now. 

When he got back to the roadside, he found the boy crouched down and poking at something in the dirt. It took the boy a few seconds to notice Cloud, and when he did, he nearly fell over in surprise before shooting to his feet and adopting a pose which, after a second, Cloud realized was supposed to be a SOLDIER’s straight-backed, wide-footed stance. His eyes were wide and afraid, as though he feared having been caught slacking. 

“...At ease,” Cloud tried, and was relieved when the boy shifted to a more natural-looking stance. “Bike’s broken,” Cloud added. “We’re going to have to walk.” 

He took a step closer, intending to pick the boy up, but the boy flinched back hard enough that Cloud stopped. For a moment it was bizarre, to think that _he_ would ever be afraid of Cloud - but then, _he_ was a child right now. A toddler, barely more than a baby. It had only been a few hours since Cloud had snatched the boy out of his hiding place and carried him through the flames of his home, past the bodies of the only caretakers he’d ever known. After they’d arrived back in the present, Cloud had taken a few minutes to wash off the ashes and blood in a mountain spring, but he must’ve made a monstrous sight. It was no wonder a toddler would be terrified of him. 

“It’s okay,” Cloud said as gently as he could. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

The boy didn’t look any less afraid - but then, how much did he even understand? Marlene had been very verbal at age four, but who knew what the stages of development looked like for a human-Jenova hybrid. Okay, so Cloud would have to start slow. He took a deep breath, trying to force down the crawling sensation of _wrong_ that came from talking to—to _him_ like this, then crouched down so he was closer to the boy’s eye level. 

“My name is Cloud,” he said. “What’s yours?” 

The boy just stared. Cloud tried, “Can you tell me your name?” 

That finally got a reaction: the boy snapped to attention again, and in a baby-soft voice totally at odds with his military pose, barked, “Name: Sephiroth. Age: Thirty-seven months. Height: Eighty-nine point two centimeters. Weight: Twelve point eight three kilograms.”

It was Cloud’s turn to stare. They were the first words the boy had spoken since Cloud had found him, and while his enunciation wasn’t great, it was enough for Cloud to parse both the words and the inflection: he was parroting Hojo. It was creepy as all hell to hear Hojo’s words out of a toddler’s mouth; creepier still to think that the boy had already been trained to respond like a soldier. At least now Cloud had an age for him, assuming the boy was accurate. 

...He had to be accurate. Hojo wouldn’t have accepted anything less from the star of Project S. 

The boy was watching him from behind his long bangs, something in his posture suggesting nervousness, as though he was afraid Cloud would react badly. Cloud made himself say, “Okay. Uh. That’s… a mouthful. Is it okay if I just call you—”

_ Sephiroth. _

His mouth snapped closed. He couldn’t say it. Sephiroth was the Son of Calamity, the towering, muscular SOLDIER First who wielded Masamune effortlessly and smiled while burning Cloud’s home to the ground. The little boy in front of him, for all that he had the same pale skin, silver hair, and slit-pupiled green eyes, for all that Cloud could see hints of the man he’d become in the bones of his jaw…

Wasn’t. 

He was, however, still watching Cloud warily. Cloud thought fast: what could he call him? _Seph_ was too intimate, too casual. The only other male name that was coming to mind was _Zack_ , and…

No. 

No way in all of Shiva’s frozen hell. 

But what other names were there? What the hell could Cloud call this little boy who wasn’t Sephiroth, not yet - not ever? Then, in a flash of inspiration, Cloud remembered a peaceful cave hidden behind a waterfall. A woman locked inside the crystalline walls, her haunted voice calling for the child she’d lost. 

Cloud said, “Can I call you Luca?” 

The boy considered this for a minute. “Luca,” he echoed. 

“Luca,” Cloud repeated. “Is that okay?” 

The boy nodded, then, still in that soft baby voice with the awkward phonemes, said, “You’re Cloud?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Where’s Professor Hojo?” 

Cloud barely managed to keep his expression under control. As gently as he could, he said, “Hojo’s dead.” 

“Where’s dead?” 

“Uh.” Cloud blinked, then remembered that a three-year-old probably didn’t know what “dead” meant. Even _this_ three-year-old. “Dead isn’t a place. Or, I guess it kind of is, but—Uh, never mind. It just means he’s gone. Forever.” 

The boy - Luca - shook his head, his expression saying clearly that Cloud didn’t know what he was talking about. “Professor Hojo always comes back.” 

“He won’t this time,” Cloud said firmly. “I made sure of it.” 

Luca gave a little shrug, like it wasn’t worth arguing over. More than happy to let the subject drop, Cloud said, “Come on. We should get going.”

“Where?” Luca asked. 

“Out of the mountains,” Cloud said. “We need to get someplace I can buy parts.” 

“Where’s…” Luca held out his hands like he was gripping a pair of handlebars and made a little growling noise. It was adorable, which was not a word Cloud would ever have thought he’d apply to— 

Not Sephiroth.  _Luca._

“The motorcycle,” Cloud explained. “It’s broken. I put it away for now. We have to walk.” He held out a hand and waited, as though Luca was a nervous kitten. He’d have to carry the boy; even if Luca hadn’t been too young and small to walk fifty miles across the Nibel mountains on his own, he was only wearing a thin smock, his legs and feet bare. 

Thank Odin, Luca seemed to realize it too; he eased close enough for Cloud to pick him up. He was too small to ride chocoback, so Cloud settled him on his hip. Luca didn’t cling close the way Marlene had when she was little, but he wrapped one tiny fist around the chest strap of Cloud’s sword harness. 

“Good?” Cloud asked him. 

“Yessir,” Luca said. 

Cloud nodded and turned toward the road. “Then let’s mosey.”


End file.
